His Father's Eyes
by the-defenestration-of-smaug
Summary: What if Jon resembled his father instead of his mother? This is a oneshot about what might have happened during King Robert's visit to Winterfell if Jon had looked like a Targaryen.


Ned came into the courtyard, hurrying to join the rest of his household before the royal party arrived. He took his place beside Catelyn, who was fussing over Sansa's dress and trying to flatten Rickon's hair. To his dismay, Arya was nowhere to be seen. Robb was joking with Theon Greyjoy while Jon Snow listened with a slight smile on his face, silver hair glinting in the dull sunlight. Ned frowned when he saw the boy he called his bastard son. It wouldn't do for him to be here when the king arrived. Perhaps feeling his father's gaze, Jon's purple eyes flickered up to meet Ned's.

"Come here, Jon," he said. Robb and Theon fell silent, and watched as Jon moved to stand before Ned.

"Yes, father?"

"I need you to go to the stables," Ned told him, conscious of Catelyn's attention. She was pretending to be straightening Bran's cloak, but he could tell she was listening. "One of the palfreys has gone lame, and Hullen will be too busy dealing with all the royal party's horses to look after her."

"But the king will be here soon," Jon said, trying not to look disappointed.

"I know," Ned said. "That is why you must go now." He pretended not to see the hurt, quickly concealed, that flashed across Jon's face, and reminded himself that this was for the boy's own good.

"Yes, father," Jon agreed quietly. There was a tired sort of resignation in his tone that Ned thought did not belong in the voice of one so young.

"We'll speak more later," Ned added softly, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Off you go." Jon nodded and left, heading for the stables. Ned watched him go, pretending that he did not see Robb's accusatory stare or Catelyn's satisfied smile. He wondered why Jon couldn't have taken after his mother. It would have made his life so much simpler.

Ned came into the stables later that evening. The guests were all in the great hall, enjoying the welcome feast. The sound of their talk and laughter and music drifted all throughout the castle, and Ned could hear them still when he found Jon. The boy was sitting on a crate outside the lame horse's stall, fiddling with a loose stick of straw in his hands and staring moodily off into space. When he heard his father coming, he scrambled to his feet.

"Father."

"Hello, Jon," Ned said, gesturing for Jon to sit again. He dropped back down onto the crate, and Ned joined him. "I am sorry you could not come to the feast. There is food for you in the kitchens, if you want it." Jon nodded wordlessly, staring straight ahead. "I need you to keep out of the king's way while he is here," Ned continued. "His family too, as much as you can. If you do cross paths with them, keep your head down and do not draw attention to yourself. Can you do that?"

"Yes, father." Jon still would not look at him. Ned sighed.

"Do you understand why I am asking this of you?"

"I'm a bastard," Jon said flatly. "You don't want to offend the royal family."

"Perhaps that is what my lady wife would say, but that is not my reason."

Jon looked up at him for the first time, frowning in confusion. "Why, then?"

Ned smiled slightly. "Surely I am not the first person to tell you that you look like a Targaryen?"

Jon shook his head. "Everyone says that, even Maester Luwin. He showed me a drawing in a book about Aegon the Conqueror. He said that said all the Targaryens had silver hair and purple eyes."

"Maester Luwin was right," Ned agreed. "That is why I want you to stay away from Robert. He is a good man, but his hatred for Targaryens blinds him. I do not want him to see you and get the wrong idea. Pale hair is easy enough to explain away, but eyes like yours raise questions."

Comprehension dawned on Jon's face, and he nodded. "I'll keep out of sight."

"Good." Ned stood and turned to leave, but Jon stopped him.

"Father?"

He turned back. "Yes?"

"I look like my mother, don't I?" Jon asked quietly. "Was she really a Targaryen?"

"No, Jon," Ned sighed. "Your mother was not a Targaryen. Far from it."

"Then who was she?" Jon asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

"Someday, when you're older, I will tell you all about your mother," Ned said. "I promise."

Ned stood at the balcony above the courtyard, watching Robb spar with Jon. They were nearly two weeks into the royal visit, and after the near disastrous practice session between Robb and the prince, it had been decided that it would be best if Joffrey trained separately from the Starks. Now the courtyard was filled with the thwacks of wooden practice swords colliding, and the two boys were intent on their battle. Perhaps that was why neither the boys nor Ned noticed King Robert's approach. Robert watched silently until the fight ended with Robb on the ground, Jon's wooden practice sword at his neck. Then, as Jon offered Robb a hand up and pulled him to his feet, Robert announced his presence.

"Well fought," Robert said gruffly. Jon jumped in surprise, then turned to see who had spoken. When he saw that it was the king, he immediately ducked his head, remembering Ned's instructions.

"Thank you, your grace," Jon said to the ground. But it was too late: Ned could see it like a stormcloud descending on Robert's face.

"Come here, boy," Robert ordered. Ned turned and hurried down the stairs into the courtyard, emerging just in time to see Jon take a tentative step closer to the king.

"What's your name?" Robert asked.

"Jon Snow, your grace," Jon replied, face still turned to the ground.

"Look at your king when you're speaking to him," Robert snapped. Jon hesitated, then slowly raised his face to look the king in the eye. For a second, everything was still. Then, Robert's face twisted in anger, and his hand drifted seemingly of its own accord to the sword hanging from his belt.

"Your grace!" Ned interrupted, crossing the courtyard to stand between Jon and Robert. "May I speak with you?" For one terrible moment Ned thought that he was going to refuse, but finally he gave a brusque nod, turned, and walked in through the open doors of the great hall nearby. Ned turned back to Robb and Jon before following.

"Father, what-" Robb started, but Ned cut across him.

"Jon, go," he said firmly.

"I'm sorry, father, I didn't see him coming, I should have-"

"It's all right, Jon, just stay out of sight for now," he told him, and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'll handle this." Jon nodded, then went quickly off toward his room. Ned gave Robb a brief nod, then followed Robert into the hall.

"Your bastard looks like a damned Targaryen!" Robert snarled when Ned caught up to him.

"It's only his coloring, your grace, if he had brown hair-"

"Only his coloring? Damn it, Ned, if I hadn't killed him myself I'd say that was Rhaegar Targaryen standing out there!"

"With respect, your grace," Ned said calmly, "Jon's no more a Targaryen than I am."

"Then why does he look like one?" The king demanded.

"I suppose he must get it from his mother," Ned said hesitantly.

"And who is she?"

"Your grace…"

"Tell me who the boy's mother is, Ned, or I swear to all the gods I'll go back out there and get the truth out of that boy myself, one way or another," Robert growled.

"Jon knows nothing of his mother," Ned said icily. "And I would urge you to think carefully before you threaten any child of mine again."

Robert looked chastened. "Just tell me who she was," he said gruffly.

"A Lysene whore," Ned lied flatly. "You know Valyrian blood is common enough in the Free Cities, her silver hair and purple eyes meant nothing there. She told me that when she came to Westeros she discovered that she could charge extra because she looked like the queen." When Robert still looked unconvinced, Ned forced a smile. "Do you think I lay with Queen Rhaella while her husband's back was turned?"

"This is no jest, Ned."

"I know that. Rhaella was pregnant when the war started, I couldn't have gotten a child on her even if I hadn't been thousands of leagues away at the time. Princess Rhaenys was a child when she died, nowhere near childbearing age. And the other princess, Daenerys, was a babe in her cradle when Jon was conceived. Tell me, your grace, which one of these Targaryen women is meant to be the mother of my bastard?"

Robert was silent for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "Gods, Ned, I'm sorry. I just can't stand the thought of a single damned Targaryens left living in this world."

"They're gone, your grace. The Targaryens are gone," Ned said softly.

"Aye, you're right." Robert looked back out over the practice yard, where Robb had resumed his sword practice, this time with Theon. Jon was nowhere to be seen. "I need a drink," Robert muttered, and strode off in search of strong ale. Ned watched him go, wishing that what he'd told Robert had been the truth.


End file.
